


A Very Season 6 Christmas

by flickerthenflare



Series: Missing Christmas Episodes [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, M/M, Missing Scene, New Year's Eve, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 16:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5504507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flickerthenflare/pseuds/flickerthenflare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s that self-indulgent time of year again where I write a missing Glee Christmas episode. Kurt and Blaine make plans to return to New York, but not before a Christmas party thrown by Santana and Brittany sends them on a different kind of adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Season 6 Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for discussions on homophobia and depression, and characters unwittingly drinking spiked eggnog.
> 
> Inspiration for performances are linked throughout.

Snow falls delicately outside the Lima Bean mere days before Christmas Eve. Inside the less crowded than usual coffee shop, Kurt beckons Blaine down for a kiss on the cheek that Blaine happily obliges before slipping into the opposite chair.

Kurt slides over a cup of coffee and a gingerbread cookie. He speaks crisply. “So, Blaine, what are you doing Christmas Eve?”

Blaine smolders over the table at him, eyebrows in a suggestive quirk and ready to make the obvious joke before he breaks into a giddy grin. “Oh my god, I get to be married to you this Christmas!”

Kurt can’t help grinning back. “I know. We should decide how we want to spend it.”

“Ooh, our first battle over whose family we’re going to spend the holidays with. Are you bribing me?” Blaine breaks a leg off the cookie and delicately bites into it. “While I appreciate the bribes, Cooper is hosting my family at his famous Poolside Christmas Extravaganza. Everyone will be in LA except me.”

“That means your home will be empty.” It’s Kurt’s turn for a flirty look.

“That means Christmas with _your_ family is the only feasible option.”

“Well, I briefly thought about the two of us breaking away early and heading back to New York to spend Christmas there, since Isabelle’s drag queen friends who took over the lease on the loft have agreed to host us when we’re ready…”

Blaine frowns into his coffee. “I don’t want to do that.”

“I don’t want to try to find an apartment right before Christmas either, which is why it was just a brief thought. It’ll be too chaotic. At least if we wait until after Christmas, we’re imposing on our relatives for the holidays, not our friends’ friends. We should aim for finding a place by the first of the month since more apartments become available then and we keep our time imposing on them to less than a week.”

“New Year’s in New York.” Blaine tests out the sound on his tongue. He doesn’t sound sure.

Kurt’s excited chatter slows. “Are you okay?”

Blaine looks at the ceiling and refrains from responding affirmatively out of habit.

“Do you not want to?” Kurt is deliberately gentle and coaxing, his nervous hands giving him away somewhat. “I thought we still wanted New York.”

Blaine offers a weak smile meant to placate at least one of them. “There are a lot of ghosts there. Of, you know, not great times. I don’t want us to have to have a hotel because of me, especially when rebuilding our lives is so expensive.” There’s a ‘but’ he doesn’t say. He’s more chipper as he says, “We’ll figure something out. I can’t avoid every place I’ve ever been depressed. We’re in my room plenty now and it’s _lovely_. It’d be easier if we could just show up at the point where our live feel brand new again and skip over the transition, but we’ll manage.”

Kurt listens with his head tilted and his brow furrows. “Let’s talk about something easy, like what we want our Christmas duet to be.”

“I want something romantic,” Blaine says like it’s new information for Kurt, with a dramatic flourish of his hands.

“Easy.” Kurt smiles gratefully for the simpler topic.

“Merry Christmas, sugarplum fairies.” Santana pulls up a chair. She drops dramatically. "Are we the only ones here? Did this secretly turn to a gay thing?"

“Everyone else is busy.” Blaine dunks his gingerbread cookie in his coffee and then frowns at it for threatening to spill over the edges.

"I suppose we are the only ones whose families are more than willing to let them out of wholesome holiday bonding time rights about now. Everyone else's parents probably still miss them. I don't think there's much chance of seeing anyone until after all that Christmas togetherness passes.” 

"How soon after Christmas do we have to leave?" Blaine is already resigned to an answer he doesn't want from Kurt. 

"Sooner is better for the sake of apartment hunting." Kurt hesitates like there's a ‘but’ that should follow but he doesn't know what comes after that. 

“What’d I miss?” Santana asks. She picks up on the weirdness between them like a sixth sense.

“Christmas duets and New Year’s apartments,” Blaine says.

“Yeah? What the hell are you two doing with the whole living together thing?”

“Making do,” Kurt responds simply.

“Oh, sure, make it _sound_ simple. Brits and I are driving the parental units up their collective walls, which they’re all threatening to soundproof. We’ve only been here for a few days; you’ve had all month to become less charming. They’ve gotta be ready to kick you out by now.”

“My mom likes the company, and Carole and Burt have been great. We’re taking turns until we figure out what comes next,” Blaine says.

“That’s a cute way to describe next-to-homelessness.” Santana smirks.

“We’ll have a home soon,” Kurt says with exasperation.

More encouragingly, Blaine adds, “And you will, too.”

“Cute platitudes. You owe your marriage to me, which means you owe me a solution. Our honeymoon is officially _over_. Now we have to figure out what comes next." 

“Kindness of friends?” Blaine suggests.

Kurt responds, “I thought you didn’t like that option.”

“Santana might.”

“Nothing that features kindness is Santana’s favorite option.”

Santana levels an unimpressed look at both of them. "What do you say we all just get out of here? Split a New York hotel room four ways and it'll feel less like paying a whole month's rent for a weekend. Still more expensive than free, but it's not like kindness is really free anyway. There’s all kinds of hidden fees for that noise." 

“That could -”

Kurt cuts Blaine off before he can overoptimistically agree to anything. “Absolutely not. You and Brittany are driving your parents batty being in the same postal code as your _nighttime noises_ and you want us to share a room? Not happening. No way are we banking on a plan where we have to get along when none of us are getting laid.”

Blaine sighs. “So we’ve established that none of us know what we’re doing for more than 12 hours in the future.”

Kurt rubs soothingly at his thigh under the table. “Back to Christmas duets?”

“Whatever. Housing isn’t even on the top of my to-do list. I haven’t figured out what Santa is getting Brittany this year. How many shopping days do I have left, Hummel? Two?”

“Aww. That’s so cute. You’re her Santa now. Santa-Santana.” Blaine snaps at the next gingerbread limb. He daintily licks crumbs from his fingers.

“Her parents asked me to take over Santa duties now that we’re married.” Santana gives one of her rare genuine smiles.

“Has she given any hints?”

“Not even when I dressed as Mrs. Claus herself.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow. ~~~~

Blaine catches his eye and, with a tip of his head, invites Kurt to a silent conversation that, unfortunately, Kurt doesn’t follow.

“Well, in the spirit of the holiday…” Blaine switches his focus from Kurt’s confusion to Santana. “Why don’t you come over to my parents’ house Christmas Eve?”

Kurt visibly startles at the offer. “Come where, now?”

“We’re like family now. That means we do holidays together,” Blaine insists.

“We share a wedding _date_ ; that doesn’t mean we…” At a look from Blaine, Kurt changes course. “…aren’t grateful for the hand you played in bringing Blaine and I back together, even if you _aren’t_ technically family.”

“There’s plenty of space, and Kurt and I can meet up with his family later in the day to celebrate with them. At least this way we’ll get to see some friends before we disappear off to New York. We’ll even help you play Santa.” He smiles brightly until someone agrees with him.

Santana agrees immediately. “Let’s do it. We may be making up our plans for where we’ll be in 2015 until right before the ball drops, but at least we know that far ahead.”

***

The fire they gather around in Blaine’s family’s living room crackles thematically for a Christmas Eve sleepover. The robes and slippers they wear in varying degrees of festive subtlety fit the occasion as well: Santana’s pajamas are modeled after Santa Claus, Brittany’s ensemble is completed by a Peruvian hat with puff balls on the ends and the top too, and Kurt and Blaine coordinate without matching.

“I have officially eaten too much fondue,” Kurt whines while popping another cheese-soaked piece of bread into his month. “I’m full of regrets.”

“Delicious, delicious regrets.” Brittany just as cheerfully munches on her own fondue offerings, swallowing it down with eggnog. “And frothy regrets, too.” She quietly starts singing “Fondue for Four” to herself.

Blaine’s eyes close in the simple joy of sipping eggnog by her side.

“I pushed out regrets to make more room for cheese,” Santana says smugly. “Best Christmas ever. Thanks, Blaine. And Kurt for being slightly less bitchy about it than anticipated.”

“Not _expecting_ you to be part of my Christmas plans doesn’t make me a bitch. What I’m about to say –”

Blaine rubs Kurt’s leg soothingly, perhaps for longer than necessary. “Change is hard. This isn’t how any of us are used to spending Christmas. We’re all adjusting. Right, Santana?” He gives her a pointed look that tells her exactly what he expects her response to be.

“It’s not the kind of first Christmas together they make Hallmark movies about,” Santana says by way of apology. “Maybe we can sell it to Logo.”

“Santa will be able to find us, right? The reindeer will sniff us out?" Brittany asks, concerned enough to briefly pause her fondue intake.

"Santa knows you're here, just like he knows Kurt and I will open presents later with Kurt’s family." Blaine looks to Kurt for confirmation.

Kurt nods along around a swallow of eggnog. "Santa deals with newly married couples and vacationers every year just fine."

Santana surreptitiously sets a timer on her phone. At 2:00 AM, "Operation Santa Claus" will alarm. She tucks her phone away as fast as she can and fills the lull in conversation by raising her glass in cheers. Frothy eggnog sloshes side to side. "Thanks for helping make our first Yuletide together the gayest.”

"Cheers, queers!" Glasses clink. They all drink again at Kurt’s toast. 

"Ooh! And another thing!” Brittany holds both hands up and then stares at them in confusion until she determines which one has the eggnog.

“All the toasts!” Santana cheers her on.

“Santa!” Brittany finishes. “We can’t leave out Santa or he’ll feel uninvited. Here’s to Santa!”

Blaine takes a heartfelt turn next, his glass raised. "To the last remaining few, because this is the end. We're out of time. We haven't left yet, but everyone else will be busy with their own families and going on vacation and going about their lives, and then we’ll be gone. We have tonight before everything changes. But really, everything already changed, and now we’re waiting to feel it. Change happens more than you’d think, and we’re never, ever prepared.”

They all look at him in concern. Blaine doesn’t notice as he takes another swig and everyone else clinks their glasses together.

"Are we toasting more than necessary?" Kurt eyes his raised glass suspiciously. 

" _Say, what's in this drink?_ " Blaine croons, hearts in his eyes as he waits for Kurt to acknowledge how cute he’s being. 

Brittany bursts into giggles.

“You’re being exceptionally giggly. Someone… Someone explain…ourselves.” Kurt’s eyes widen in dismay at his own slurring words.

_“_[ _It was Christmas Eve / My friends were all in town_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oyWiDLMe2BU) _/ We were singing Christmas carols / As the snow was falling down,”_ Blaine starts warmly. _“And I don't know for certain / How it happened, or who's to blame. But someone at that party / Ought to be ashamed.”_

Brittany waggles her finger in response. She picks up the tempo. “ _Tell me who, who spiked the eggnog? / I know the culprit's here_. / _Who, who brought the booze? / To the Christmas party this year?_ ”

They point their fingers at each other between drinks from their glasses. Each tries to look innocent and cracks up instead.

Brittany takes the lead on the next lines and everyone else backs her up. “ _The first round went down easy, / The second, one nice and smooth. / By the third my head was spinning around. / And that's when I got the clue_.”

Brittany spins Blaine. They break into dance, Blaine copying Brittany, both of them laughing at their drink-clumsy limbs.

“ _To tell me who, who spiked the eggnog? / Come on and show your face. / Who, who brought the sauce?  
Look out, I'm on the case!_ ”

Brittany and Blaine convince their spouses to join them. Santana and Kurt spins in turn, even more clumsily and giggly about it than Brittany and Blaine were. They all lean hard against each other.

_“Tell me who spiked the eggnog? / Tell me, tell me who could it be?_ ”

Outside, Sue Sylvester stands in a red, fur-lined tracksuit parka and intones to her non-existent audience, “ _Who knows, it might’ve been me_.”

***

Cheerful notes turn discordant when Blaine wakes from his eggnog stupor to near-darkness.

“Ugh, cheese before bed is the worst. And the best. It’s confusing.” Blaine shakes his head. “Where…?”

He isn’t slumped against the living room loveseat of his parent’s living room, but somewhere cool and uninviting. Blaine’s breath freezes in front of him. Bare feet pad on cold hardwood as he ventures past the curtains that envelop him. 

A few more steps make it clear that he’s in the loft back in New York, but not as he left it. It looks like no one has lived there for quite some time. The whole apartment is freezing. Frost covers the windows. Blaine wraps his arms around himself.

"Kurt? You don't need to be so stingy with the heat – we don't even pay for it. Kurt?"

There’s no response. He calls for Kurt again. And again. 

***

Kurt stirs to the sound of voices.

"When, um, when do you leave?"

"First thing in the morning. Well, after breakfast and packing the car, so it's really third thing in the morning. It'll be early, though, so it’ll be before your first thing. Unless you and Madison still wake up at dawn for presents?"

Every word betrays their mutual tentative awkwardness. Kurt takes a moment to recognize the voices as Mason and Jane’s. Kurt sits upright, one moment sleepy and the next shrewdly evaluating his surroundings. Jane’s back is to him, and her whole attention is on the computer screen filled by a Skype call with Mason.

"Did a tornado carry me here?" Kurt frowns when no one laughs at his joke. He shakes his head, but the scene before him stays stubbornly in place, and something doesn’t seem quite right about it. Kurt knows that olive paint over wood paneling. He knows the trophies, the keyboard off to one side, the plaid comforter he lost his virginity on top of. He’s not in Jane’s room.

“Where’s Blaine?” Kurt asks and is ignored again. He flexes his fingers into the familiar comforter. 

On the computer screen, Mason has his own tentative question that makes him sound as lost as Kurt feels. “Should I… Do you want to go?”

“Skiing? Not really. Except that I actually really love it and there’s no need to be sad about a short time away. I’ll be back before either of us knows.”

“I mean do you need to _go_ , like, not be right here? Since you’re leaving and you have to get ready.”

“I like it here,” Jane breathes. “But yes, I have to get ready.”

“Ah, young love,” Kurt chuckles, projecting to announce his presence. “Blaine and I used to be just like this when it came time to say goodnight. I don’t know who was humoring who… Hey, That’s my room!” Kurt can see his plush red comforter behind Mason where Madison intently studies her book and acts like she can't hear every word Jane or Mason (or Kurt) says.

Jane and Mason are too busy staring intently at each other to notice Kurt either.

"What happens if I miss you?" Mason makes it sound like teasing, but the question is sincere.

"We'll be fine!" Jane insists. 

"How, Jane?" Kurt intones from across the room, deadpan in his frustration at being ignored. “How do you know that?”

“I’ll text as much as I can,” Jane continues without acknowledging Kurt. “It won’t seem like I’m gone at all.”

“Jane, you’re going to get busy. You can’t take a break in the middle of a ski jump to text about nothing. Let him know now that doesn’t mean you don’t care,” Kurt scolds.

“So, later?” Mason beams like he swallowed the sun.

“Later.” Jane turns away with a dreamy sigh.

Across town in Mason’s room – _Kurt’s_ room, typically – Mason forlornly watches his blank screen. “[ _This holiday / You'll be far away_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EmhfdQlOiy0) _/ And I'll be all alone / So please remember / This December / To fully charge your phone_.”

Behind him, Santana raises her hand. “Can someone please tell me why I’m in someone else’s dream sequence?”

Mason makes no acknowledgement of Santana’s existence.

While she packs in her/Blaine’s room, Jane sings below her breath, “ _Text me Merry Christmas / Let me know you care / Just a word or two / Of text from you/ Will remind me you're still there,_ ” nudging her phone back to life each time the screen dims.

Her phone vibrates to life. She crows in delight, “ _You don't have to add much to it / One smiley face will do / Baby, text me Merry Christmas / Cause I'm missing kissing you_.”

Mason kicks up his feet as he curls up on the bed, grinning just as giddily at his phone as Jane. “ _Text me Merry Christmas / Make my holiday complete / Though you're far from me / Say you'll BRB / That's a text I'll never delete_.”

Madison moves out of the way without looking up from her book.

“ _Choose just the right emoji / One that makes me LOL_ / _And if you text me something naughty / I promise I won't tell,_ ” Jane sings, scandalized but please with herself, glancing over her shoulder to make sure she’s alone. She doesn’t see Kurt watching with familiar confusion.

“ _A facebook message isn't quite as sweet / I need more from @you than just a tweet.”_ Jane twirls with a sweater as a makeshift dance partner before she packs it. She and Mason harmonize together despite the distance between them. _“A snap on snapchat doesn't last / And voicemail? That's from Christmas past_.”

“ _Text me Merry Christmas / Send a selfie too / If you do, I'll go / 'Neath the mistletoe / And pretend my screen is you_.” For a brief moment, Kurt’s imagination takes the image of Jane leaning playfully in for a kiss with her phone screen and replaces it with Blaine and a picture of himself. He can’t help sighing dreamily.

“ _Show me that you love me / Text XO to kiss and hug me / I'll be right here waiting / For my pants to start vibrating_.” Mason swivels his hips like Elvis. Madison watches with a wrinkled nose.

Jane and Mason finish in a unified flourish on the ritardando. “ _Baby text me Merry Christmas / And I will text you too/ This Christmas / It's the least that we can do_.”

Madison scoffs at the end of their song. “Mason, she’s upstaging you again. We’ve been over this. You can’t let her pull focus.”

“Oh, like he’ll listen to you.” Santana rolls her eyes.

Madison gapes at her, recognizing Santana’s presence of the first time. “Santana? Did you break into my _house_?”

"Jane can upstage me as much as she wants, because that’s what _love_ is!” Mason dances out of the room, completely oblivious to everyone and everything that isn’t Jane on his phone.

“Chill, Doublemint. I don’t know how I got here either.”

“Am I dreaming?” Madison twirls her loose hair around one finger. It’s meant to be dismissive. She spoils it when her eyes dart to the bed.

"Could be.” Santana shrugs. “If so, it’s you dream. I don't really see you being in mine. Is this your room? Tell me this is not your room. You have pictures of Kurt and Blaine at prom and only one bed.”

Madison pauses for another look around. “It didn’t seem weird a moment ago.”

“There’s mistletoe _everywhere_. In your _bedroom_ that you share with your _brother_. Get your mack on with someone else already.”

Madison breathes deeply, her eyes rolling hard back into her head in a show of exasperation. She closes them for a more serene moment and her whole body sways closer to Santana.

“Which of the new New Directions dudes are into ladies, again?”

Madison drops back and crosses her arms. “I don’t want to date some random guy just because Mason’s hung up on Jane.”

Santana’s smirk blossoms. “Hold up. Either my judgment is kicking in, or my third eye is. You’re hella gay, aren’t you?”

“What?” Madison gapes harder than a moment ago. 

“What, did I give spoilers for your own life?”

Madison shakes her head. "Mason would have told me." 

“That your secret isn’t wanting to get with your brother, it’s wanting to get with your brother’s hot girlfriend? And your 50 million times hotter semi-mentor figure? This is gold. A true Christmas miracle. New Year’s is the perfect time for self-discovery. Or for me to discover things for you.”

“Jane and I are friends.”

“Brittany was my _best_ friend. Still is.”

Madison recovers enough to look unimpressed. “Are you suggesting I lure my brother’s girlfriend away with athletic sex and the promise that it’s not cheating since I’m not a guy?”

“Only if I were sticking around to watch – the drama, not the gangliest foray into getting off ever attempted by ladies. Oh my god, I would pay-per-view that ridiculous little melodrama. But no. Your brother has found a Han Solo to his Princess Leia, and now you can move on from your weird twincest phase, and your hang ups on _his_ Han Solo, to the Lando Calrissian of your dreams.”

“Um. Was that in the Christmas special?”

“Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have started reading Blaine’s fanfiction. I have no concept of what’s real anymore. You’d think the non-stop treacly sex scenes would help me differentiate.”

Madison’s hope and coyness return. “Are you going to read some to me?”

“See, that? That is gay. Or somewhere on a queer spectrum.” Santana gestures sweepingly at Madison on the last word. “Clearly I'm meant to impart knowledge before flouncing off and leaving the fledgling gays on their own in this brave new world. Let’s see. First of all, all that It’s Get Better crap feels like a crock, but it’s not a lie so much as too damn slow to see until you don’t need it as bad. If Ohio’s disappointing, there's always packing up and going to somewhere that hates you slightly less. I'm personally fond of skipping right to the gayest place on earth. The promise of that alone should tide you over for the next couple years. Also, razor blades in your hair.”

Madison stares with wide blue eyes. “Are you ‘A Christmas Carol’-ing me?”

“No, no, you don’t have to be afraid. Ugh, I'm officially scaring the children in a not-fun way. You probably need something disgustingly sunshiny to counteract the just plain disgusting the world’s going to confront you with. Let's try this the Blanderson way." Santana steers Madison into sitting at the vanity chair and takes the opposite seat. When Santana looks back up with her head tilted to show how attentively she's listening, her eyes comically large, she speaks in slow, deliberate, overly-enunciated sweetness. "You don't have to feel like you're alone, you know, _Madison_. Because you're not alone. There’s a whole world of people who think you’re perfect just the way you are." Santana gives Madison’s hand a squeeze. “Take courage.” ~~~~

Madison stares at their clasped hands.

Santana sighs. “This is so disappointing compared to the sex dream you probably thought you were getting. Maybe I’ll just find you some of those videos on YouTube.”

“Porn?”

“Platitudes. Not really my jam, but I’m in your dream for a reason, and it’s probably not for my newly married self to teach you the joys of scissoring. Ooh, there we go!”

Madison’s mouth drops as she mouths, “ _Scissoring?_ ”

“How do you not know you’re gay yet? No. You know what's better? Actually amazing?” For the first time in her talk with Madison, Santana sounds sincere. “I just got _married_. We had to cross state lines to do it, and you know crap is depressing when Indiana is more progressive than your home, but it’s real. It happened. I wouldn’t have believed it four years ago. Like I said, it’s slow progress, but it hits you sometimes that progress can actually happen despite the kicking and screaming against it. Four years I couldn’t picture myself choosing a future starring Brittany. I've drifted a lot of places in the last couple years: Louisville, here, New York, Germany, New York again, Iowa, here, my beautiful Bahamas honeymoon, and soon New York once more. That's a whole lot of not knowing where to be, but it turns out the best places have been the ones where I have her. I spent too long telling myself I didn’t want her. But if you’re not afraid, you can get exactly what you want.”

Santana sings soft and sweet, “[ _Thousands of people all walking by_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uqy6bXgkND0) _/ But Somehow I'm still alone / I'm gonna spend winter my way / Again on the highway / I'm ready to find a way home_.”

Kurt’s repurposed room transforms into the barn where Brittany was born and they said their vows. The twinkling lights and the rule remain. Santana swings her legs over the bale of hay like Judy Garland on the edge of a stage. 

“ _We'll build up the fire, tell a story or two / With good friends we always invite / The old and the young come together as one / and we sing into the night_.”

Madison harmonizes along.

“ _Indiana, that’s where I'm going / This time of year you know how I feel / Indiana, that’s where I'm going / Where Christmas will always be real_.”

The end of the song brings them back to Kurt’s room like they never left. Santana likes to think it’s progress anyway.

***

Kurt watches Jane pack, legs crossed but not at home in the room that is typically Blaine’s, not hers.

“Are you ignoring me because I told you not to pack that sweater? If you’re sending as many selfies as you promised, you’ll thank me for not letting you immortalize bulky reindeer print that looks like it was made by a bored but talentless grandmother. Let your older, wiser mentor figure _who worked at Vogue_ tell you to ditch the sweater, if nothing else.”

Kurt waits for a response that doesn’t come.

"Jane? Can you hear me at all?" He speaks softly, fully aware now that he won't be heard. He tentatively touches her shoulder. He doesn't pass through like a ghost, but she doesn't react either.

Jane zips her suitcase and tilts it upright. She rolls it out of the room.

“It’s still dark out. You didn’t say you were going to leave this soon,” Kurt protests. He follows her down stairs he knows, but not as hers. "Jane, I've been down this road before. Learn from our mistakes. Promising to text incessantly is cute, but are you actually going to talk about the hard stuff, or expect cuteness to pull you through? What happens when you let each other down? A funny text isn't going to maintain your relationship on its own.” 

Jane loads her bag into the trunk and climbs into the car.

Kurt stalls at the curb between following her and letting her leave without him. Logic dictates Kurt keep following Jane to find answers as the why he woke to a dream starring her, but. he's never been one to follow scripts. He backs away.

“Fine. I don't want to keep making the same mistake either. I’ll go find someone who _can_ hear me. Blaine has to be somewhere." Kurt sets off in the opposite direction.

***

The last strains of “Indiana Christmas” play over the holiday music channel on TV. Santana, Blaine, and Kurt sleep soundly on the floor of Blaine’s home where they collapsed from their eggnog stupor. The fire has since dwindled to a few embers. Blaine curls in on himself, knees hugged to his chest. Brittany drops a blanket over him and he wriggles gratefully in his sleep.

While everyone else sleeps on, Brittany layers up: Knee high socks; earmuffs over the top of her hat; arm warmers. She marches outside to where Sue stands across the street. 

Brittany’s voice is too loud as she declares, “No stealing Christmas, Sue Sylvester!”  

"Me? Why, I'm merely..." Sue says in a way that implies that she's never _merely_ anything, "Out for a stroll." 

"You sound like a marshmallow world in the winter." Brittany’s volume continues to be too loud for a deserted street in the middle of the night. She removes her earmuffs and approaches a normal volume. "If you want to completely change your story to something truthful, I promise not to notice."

Sue tries a different tactic: an overly dramatic tale of woe. "My main source of live entertainment is moving to the epicenter of freakshows to be lost in the roar of weirder things. I'm getting in one last show. Would you deny me?"

Brittany’s lip quirks. "Is that popcorn?" 

Sue seems to have a whole supply of people-watching aids by her side, from binoculars and a folding chair, to a crossword puzzle for their fillers moments. Sue takes a swig from her thermos. "Let a lady have her hobbies."

"Nope. Come as a guest or not at all." Brittany spins on her heel and marches back to Blaine’s house.

After the briefest of hesitations she would never admit to, Sue follows Brittany inside.

"Adorable lightweights. Best to let them be." Brittany leads Sue further inside, past sprawled forms dreaming away, to the tree and the fireplace embers. Brittany stops and spins. "Okay. Make amends. You have, like, 15 more minutes to switch from the naughty to the nice list before Santa gets here. Gotta make them count.” 

Sue pushes back the fur-lined hood of her tracksuit and unloads her extensive people-watching supplies from her sack to under the tree. More and more items fall at the foot of the tree. With a wistful sigh she lets go of the drone too. "There. No more spying. You now have all my paraphernalia."

"That's not amends."

"And what is?" Sue asks in her rarely-used patient educator voice.

"Coffee. Also friendship! It's not doing or saying every mean thing that pops into your head and all of the nice ones. It helps prove you're worth a 50 millionth try." 

"Coffee I can do.” Sue sets to work brewing a pot in the Anderson’s cozy-chic kitchen.

“Good. Fighting crime and hangovers. My Christmas Eve has been well used.” Brittany plops down on the couch. “We’ll work on the rest.”

“For a classic Christmas redemption story, however short-lived?” Sue’s lip quirks.

“Doesn't it feel better now that you’re inside and warm and significantly less creepy?" Brittany asks. “Now you’re watching us sleep with an invite, like a strange great-aunt who has ‘seen things’ and makes dishes with ‘salad’ in the name that feature marshmallows. That’s the nice way to be in our lives, where you wish us well when you get overinvolved and we can tell you to leave us alone until the next holiday. We have a Christmastime obligation to stand you, so lean into the theme of forgiveness and new beginnings while you still can.”

“Right. Well.” Sue listens without her usual scheming. “I’ve taken up quite enough of your time. Thank you for the Christmas spirit, Brittany.” Sue says with forced politeness that never sits completely sincerely on Sue despite how she tries.

“Don’t scare off Santa when you go. He’s coming as soon as we’re asleep, but only if we’re good.” Brittany settles into a sprawl across the couch cushions, tucking her self in under a throw blanket.

“I’ll come back in the morning.” Sue tiptoes out the door and locks herself out.

***

Blaine looks through cupboards and finds nothing. No toothpaste on the counter. No towels on the rack or on the floor. His breath puffs in the cold while he searches. It looks like the Grinch has come and removed everything that brings joy throughout the whole loft.

"Where's the door? Did I forget where the door is?" Blaine feels along the wall for a way to escape with one shaky step at a time. No one else is inside the loft to respond.

“Kurt?” Despite searching and calling, Blaine finds no evidence of Kurt inside the deserted loft. “Kurt, you can’t do this to me again! You can’t –” His voice cuts off with too much emotion clogging his throat. He doesn’t try again.

"I would like to wake up now." Blaine pouts. "Get more creative, insecurities. We’ve done this too much lately."

Pouting doesn’t help him out.

Blaine wraps himself with a blanket thrown over the back Kurt’s car-wreck chair, as Blaine once dubbed it, one of the few pieces of furniture left in the whole apartment. The TV is still there as well. Blaine turns it on. Images of a local news station spring to life.

"We're coming upon the wee hours of Christmas morning. Happy holidays to you and your loved ones." The newscaster’s smile turns more forced the longer the program takes to cut away to commercial.

Blaine looks around the empty space. 

“This isn’t right. Kurt _loves_ me. This can’t…” Blaine rubs his hands over his face. “This can’t happen again.”

Blaine lies down in a discouraged, lonely crumple. The blanket doesn’t stop his shaking. He tightens the fabric around him and draws his bare feet in close. He wiggles them for warmth. The room around him darkens. Even inside, it seems like everything is covered in frost.

He sings a wordless song for comfort, just a repeating “ _bum_ ” that means nothing until words find themselves, starting shaky and unsure. “[ _This is my winter song to you_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VqWBD_tO1QU) _/ The storm is coming soon, / it rolls in from the sea_.”

The silence hangs in the loft as Blaine takes a shaky breath.

“ _My voice; a beacon in the night / My words will be your light, / to carry you to me_.”

Blaine startles at the haunting sound of Rachel’s voice. On the other side of the loft’s giant windows, Rachel appears like a spirit from Christmas past. She glows either from the reflection of snow and cities lights or from the melodrama of Blaine’s subconscious.

“ _They say that things just cannot grow / Beneath the winter snow, / Or so I have been told_.”

Blaine wipes at his eyes. His lips part.

“ _They say we’re buried far, / Just like a distant star / I simply cannot hold_.” Rachel’s hands ghost along the icy windowpanes.

They join together on the repeated question: “ _Is love alive?_ ”

“ _This is my winter song. / December never felt so wrong, / cause you're not where you belong; / inside my arms_.” Blaine hugs himself tight instead. He sings for self-comfort. It's an outlet for grief and longing and hope underneath. “ _I still believe in summer days / The seasons always change / And life will find a way_.”

Rachel joins back in. “ _I'll be your harvester of light / And send it out tonight / So we can start again._ ”

Blaine lip quirks at the promise of starting again.

"Back here again. Hard to tell if we're trying again or regressing." Rachel says. Her speaking voice sounds more distant through the glass.

"God, Rachel, you must be freezing!" Blaine feels along the panes for a way through. 

“Just a little numb. I’m not sure what to feel yet anyway,” Rachel laughs. “I wanted to come back, after all.”

"We had some amazing times here. It’s not that it was all bad. But all I can think about are the weeks Kurt left me here before I left too." 

“I’ve been thinking all my failures too. Everything I left behind. Remember when we both went into hiding?" 

A lump forms in Blaine’s throat at the memory. 

"It won't be like that. We're not going to be alone, for one. Don't forget I'm coming too. And we know well enough to count on friends when things get rough. Plus, Kurt loves you and the stage loves me."

Rachel smiles so encouragingly that Blaine has to laugh.

“We said we'd get through this together. I think that should include what comes next. We just have to believe that we can what comes next even better, and make it stay,” Rachel says. “Do you want more forceful optimism? I can keep going. Whatever we need.”

“Either to let you in or let me out.” Blaine keeps feeling around for a latch on the window. "I've had this dream before where I can't get out. There's never a way out.”

"And I can't get back in. New York won't take me back," Rachel admits. “That’s the kind of nightmare you wake up in cold sweats from.”

"Every time, I curl up and wait for the misery to pass because I don't know what else to do. I see my keyboard or a piano or even a _kazoo_ and I know it could help but I can't convince myself to reach out for it. At least with you here, I won't be tempted to give up. I remember it feeling like that in real life when I'd sit down at my piano and couldn't play - hold on." Blaine’s idea hits suddenly. "We're getting out."

A smile plays on Rachel’s lips. 

With a newfound resolve, Blaine announces, "I'll bring the Christmas cheer all on my own." 

From there, he tries one of Brittany’s magic turns. A single turn doesn’t seem like enough, so he pirouettes in the empty room, landing with an emphatic, "It's Blaine, bitch." 

The turn changes everything. The loft around Blaine disappears. Marble hallways take their place. He’s back to the start. In dreams, Dalton stands as strong and steady as in memory. Blaine drops the blanket and his wardrobe underneath changes from the robe and pajamas he fell asleep in to a brightly cozy cowl-necked snowflake sweater and slacks. His skin glows in the warmth. 

" _Oh, yeah!_ " Blaine cheers. The summoned warblers’ footsteps approach. 

_“[You're here where you should be / Snow is falling as the carolers sing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ks4xy_HVD9I) / It just wasn't the same / Alone on Christmas day.”_ Blaine radiates energy, upbeat and ready to express himself, emoting comfortably as the lead warbler. “ _Presents, what a beautiful sight / Don't mean a thing if you ain't holding me tight / You're all that I need / Underneath the tree.”_

Red blazers fill in behind him, but they’re not worn by his typical crew of warblers. Mercedes, Tina, Sam, and Artie lead the way. Soon even more friends are among them. Brittany and Santana join his cheese and eggnog fever dream next with whoops of delight.

_“Tonight / I'm gonna hold you close / Make sure that you know / I was lost before you.”_

Blaine rocks out by their sides, grooving to the upbeat song. They two-step their way through the halls. His ensemble grows. Rachel squeezes Blaine’s hand on her way into formation. She joins in on the joyful dance moves. 

_“Christmas was cold and grey / Another holiday alone to celebrate / But then one day everything changed / You're all I need / Underneath the tree.”_

Blaine’s grin widens. He’s ecstatic to be in the middle of the choir dancing past warbler rehearsal rooms, past study halls that formerly housed flirt holiday duets, past the student kitchen where Blaine first invited Kurt to get to know him and later to change everything between them, to the staircase where he and Kurt met and he proposed. The new warblers reach the grand staircase and Blaine just knows to look up. After all his searching, there Kurt stands.

“ _I found what I was looking for / A love that's meant for me / A heart that's mine completely / Knocked me right off my feet.”_

Blaine holds out both hands for Kurt to take. They twirl in time.

“ _And this year I will fall / With no worries at all / 'Cause you are near and everything's clear / You're all I need / Underneath the tree.”_

The entire room overflows with friends. Blaine looks back at Rachel with glee. 

***

Morning light just beginning to filter through, competing with the Christmas tree lights as the cause for Blaine’s stirring. Kurt pets at Blaine’s head in his lap.

“There’s coffee in case waking up hurts too bad. Because I love you and I want you to know I care, I’m going share my coffee with you,” Kurt says lightly, his voice hushed as a hangover precaution.

Blaine stretches into siting upright but stays close to Kurt’s side. "How did I end up clinging to you? You were half a room away when I fell asleep."

"You looked like you were searching for something. My ego insisted it must be me. How’s you head?” Kurt asks.

“Muddling through.” Blaine gratefully accepts the mug. “Did you put a whole pot on?”

“You didn’t? One of these two must’ve. I’m completely sincere in my willingness to share. There’s plenty more.”

Blaine takes another steamy swallow. “New Year’s resolution: never mixing fondue and spiked eggnog again.”

Kurt replies just as earnestly, "I'm going to keep working on letting you know how much I care about you."

Blaine blinks at him. "I know you do – but yes, please. That sounds lovely."

Kurt continues with steely resolve. “Before we get distracted by festivities, I want a moment to talk about what we’re doing next.”

“I don’t know yet.”

“I think I do,” Kurt says.

They’re interrupted by Santana, who takes a bewildered look through pine needles and colored lights before she realizes where she is and bolts upright.

"Son of a..." At a scandalized look from Blaine, she finishes, "...sugarplum fairy." She grabs Blaine’s arm and drags him with her, which makes Kurt trail along. "I forgot Santa. I had one thing I was supposed to do. I was going to set it up once everyone else passed out."

A sideways glance confirms there's absolutely nothing under the tree except abandoned spy equipment. Kurt holds up the binoculars. "Are these from Santa?"

Santana takes them from him. "Is Santa a technologically advanced creep, or are the two of you even more kinky than Blaine’s fanfiction suggests?" 

"Santa's not going to have a solution for fake-prudes," Kurt shoots back. “Decide right now what our help is worth to you.”

Santana and Kurt are too busy bickering to establish where the spy equipment actually came from.

"Maybe she hasn't noticed yet?" Blaine doesn’t sounds as convincing as he is hopeful.

"Are Santa and the Easter bunny on cahoots?" Brittany asks. She checks under the coffee table, then behind the couch. With affection, she scoffs, “Silly Santa. I was hoping Santa would cover you in presents, Santana, and you could swim around in them like Scrooge McDuck."

"I guess Santa's more conscientious of safety than that," Blaine eagerly tries to help. "And he kept the presents far, far away from the tree since we were sleeping under it."

"How far?" Brittany launches to her feet. 

"Look for wrapped gifts. We're not going shopping in Blaine’s mom's closet." Kurt addresses his warning more toward Santana than Brittany. 

Brittany makes a larger and larger ring around the tree in search of the missing presents.

"Tell her Santa went to her parent's instead," Kurt whispers furiously.

"And then tell her Santa magicked them into the car trunk for her to unload once she's there?" Santana pauses for a beat. "Put on your coats."

At Santana’s insistence, they shuffle through the snow in boots and coats over their pajamas. out to Brittany’s car parked on the street.

"Look, Brit. Santa knew we'd be traveling once again." Santana nudges her toward the car trunk. She pops the trunk to reveal beautifully wrapped parcels carefully packed together.

Kurt and Blaine ooh and aww supportively in the background.

“Santa thinks we live in a car?” Brittany is skeptical but willing to be swayed.

“The road is officially our home right now,” Santana says. “Wherever we go, we’ll be together. We’ve been so many places, but that’s what matters.”

"In that case, we should go ‘home’ as soon as possible. We don’t want the road to miss us.”

“Perfect for me. Let’s make our plans to get out of here.”

“Open presents in New York?" Brittany asks.

"And love every step of the way there. We'll set out and start brand new again." 

Brittany responds with a kiss.

Kurt gestures Blaine closer, who happily envelopes Kurt in his arms, chin tucked over Kurt’s shoulder.

"Merry Christmas, darling." Kurt’s voice is light. He leans into Blaine’s embrace. “Speaking of traveling once more…”

“It can wait until after Christmas.”

“Our future shouldn’t be too unpleasant to talk about on Christmas.” Kurt turns in Blaine’s arms until he catches Blaine’s eye. "I want you to be comfortable. That starts with the transition to where and how we want our lives to be, not just when we get settled. If you don’t want to stay at the loft, we won’t go back there." 

"It's not exactly low-maintenance of me to avoid it." Blaine wrinkles his nose. 

"Who the hell thought to talk about people like they're cars anyway? People aren't built to have a checkup every few months and keep running just fine. You're not faulty for having needs and I'm not returning you to the lot. We’re going to figure this out.” Kurt says fiercely. “I talked to June Dalloway while you were asleep this morning. She said she hasn’t heard from you since summer.”

Blaine sighs. “That sounds about right.”

“Since before we broke up.”

“I’m aware.”

“She wants to see you for herself. She also has more than one guest room. We’re welcome to stay. She says we can pay her back as entertainment at her swanky New Year’s Eve party.”

"You don't like June," Blaine protests. 

"Just because she isn't my _favorite_ elderly lady doesn't mean we can’t work toward at least a mutual indifference. It's not going to upset me to try to win her over. She likes you and she wants to help."

Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt. “Thank you.”

“There’s no obligation. We can vaguely invite her over for dinner and never follow through if you want. We can put her off for a while with all the unpacking we have to do. That should buy us at least six months.”

“I doubt we’ll bring that much stuff.” Blaine laughs in relief.

“Everything you left is waiting for us in storage.”

“Really?”

“I never told you,” Kurt says flatly, disappointed in himself for forgetting.

“My piano?”

“Still there. Maybe a little more dinged up from the move.”

“We can paint it purple. No one will be able to tell.”

“Perfect.”

They seal it with a kiss that ends at the distant sound of caroling. Santana and Brittany turn toward it as well.

New Directions members new and old bound down the street. The choir members concern themselves more with volume than uniformity, Mercedes and Rachel in a friendly competition to make themselves the star of the chorus, the current McKinley students bursting with enthusiasm. 

“ _[The mood is right / The spirits up / We're here tonight / And that's enough](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9IBqwAKv8b8)_ ,” the choir sings, filling the last words of the line with hope. “ _Simply having a wonderful Christmastime_.”

Tina and Artie take turns directing, with nutcracker hats part of their self-imposed uniform. 

"Sidestep, everyone. All together."

"Show choir smiles, show choir!"

“ _The party's on / The feeling's here / That only comes / This time of year_.”

Brittany cheers as soon as she spots them. "Santa outdid himself!”

The newest members of New Directions enter on, “ _The choir of children sing their song / They practiced all year long_. / _Simply having a wonderful Christmastime_!”

Too many bodies all tangle together in greeting, grabbing hands or shoulders and pulling each other close. Sam hugs Blaine hard enough his feet pick up from the ground.

“I thought you were all busy!” Blaine lights up under the attention of the crowd.

"We know you're leaving soon. This is our last chance to say goodbye," Jane says.

"For now," Kitty chimes in.

"Our families can spare us long enough to drop brunch off at your door and say hello." Mercedes slides a disposable pan loaded with cinnamon rolls into Kurt’s arms.

“This is too much,” Kurt protests even as he eyes the cinnamon rolls.

Rachel shushes them both. "What wouldn't we do for you?" 

Sue clears her throat, silencing her students and former students out of habit. "Consider this my grand gesture: a Christmas-themed serenade. I enlisted the help of every singing do-gooder I knew. Turns out it's enough for a whole choir." She gestures broadly. 

They erupt into applause. The whole choir has too many people who want to hug at once. Brittany beams at them all.

Santana whispers an unheard request in Kitty’s ear, who promptly backs Madison toward the mistletoe and plants a loud, satisfying smack on her lips. Madison blinks through her daze. Kurt confuses Jane by asking about an upcoming ski trip she hasn’t yet mentioned to him. Sam tries out his latest holiday impressions for anyone who will listen. Sue raises her glass of sparkling cider for a toast. The whole choir basks in their fondness of each other a little while longer.

***

June Dalloway’s guests sip cocktails in an elegant venue in midtown, just far enough away from Times Square to see the crowd gather to watch the new year’s ball drop from a distance.

“Are you ready?” Blaine asks in a low whisper. He offers his arms to Kurt as they take the stage.

Kurt happily accepts. “Well, when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

Blaine offers a microphone to Kurt before speaking into his own. “We’re a little late for our Christmas duet, but the holidays aren’t over yet. The love of my life and I would like to sing you a song that seemed appropriate this year. We hope you enjoy.” With a contented smile, Blaine begins their duet.

“[ _When the bells all ring and the horns all blow_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFq_1CFAo2U) _/ And the couples we know are fondly kissing / Will I be with you or will I be among the missing?_ ”

Kurt responds sweetly, “ _Maybe it's much too early in the game / Oh, but I thought I'd ask you just the same / What are you doing New Year's / New Year's Eve?_ ”

They sing together in the song’s wistful, romantic style. “ _Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight / When it's exactly twelve o'clock that night / Welcoming in the New Year / New Year's Eve_.”

Blaine’s voice rings brightly. “ _Maybe I'm crazy to suppose / I'd ever be the one you chose / Out of a thousand invitations / You received_.”

Kurt sways in response, his gaze toward his husband soft and adoring. “ _Ooh, but in case I stand one little chance / Here comes the jackpot question in advance: / What are you doing New Year's / New Year's Eve?_ ”

Outside, the ball drops, signaling the start of a brand new year.


End file.
